Once Upon a Road Trip (33 page)

The young man broke into a cool smile. “I’m glad you didn’t get yourself too lost.” He stepped around the front of his car, speaking in the same easy tone he’d used over the phone.

Up close Vince could almost pass for a college student, thanks to the saving grace of intent green eyes and a confident bearing. Standing even with her in height, his thin features were distinguished but not quite sharp. Though he was somewhat pale, he’d seen enough sun to bring out a smattering of freckles across high-set cheekbones.

Before Angie had time to determine whether their first meeting warranted a hug or a handshake, Vince turned and motioned to the building. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She followed him into the service station, pretending to be interested in the candy bar aisle while her new host weaved back through the store and disappeared. Seeing food made her realize how long it had been since she’d eaten. By the time he returned, she’d grabbed up a bag of chips and stood perusing the refrigerated section for a bottle of juice.  

“You hungry?” Vince asked as he neared. “We can stop and get something at Sonic.”

“Oh…okay,” Angie said, though she wasn’t sure what a “Sonic” was. She returned her impulsive dinner plan to its shelf and followed her new host as he went striding back outside.

The rain had dissipated, leaving the warm air heavy and the roads wet.

“Stick close—I won’t let you lose me,” Vince called over his shoulder before getting into his car. Angie hopped back into Gypsy and fell in behind the white sedan as it pulled onto the main road. They continued on through a few long stretches and curves before a pocket of urban expansion began to unfold around them.

What she saw of the city made it seem small. The roads were well kept, but the buildings were showing their age. They passed a handful of gas stations, a grocery store, and an abundance of hardware and auto shops before she spotted a sign for the Sonic — a drive-in burger place with outdoor seating.

Angie parked beside Vince and rolled down her window to let in the scent of the fresh rain. As she did, she heard a car horn play Dixie. Craning her neck back to locate its source, she spotted a mud-spattered pickup truck. The shirtless young driver leaned out his window and shouted something unintelligible to a car passing in the opposite lane. Deciding that gawking wouldn’t be the best idea, she reached over then and patted the head of her Stitch toy.

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto,” she muttered to her inanimate companion before taking a deep breath and hauling herself out of the car.

Vince was wearing a set of reflective blue sunshades as he stood with his arms folded, studying one of the menu boards. “Order whatever you want.” His genial tone contrasted with what she’d begun to perceive as an aloof demeanor.

It didn’t take her long to decide on a BLT and a strawberry shake. Vince repeated her request and his own to the disembodied voice that came through the speaker.

The two sat down at one of the tables and made small talk during the short wait for the food to be brought out. Vince asked about a few of the others from the online community she’d spent time with, and she obliged him with brief summaries of a few misadventures.

“So, what about Danny?” Vince asked, referencing her host in Toronto, who she knew he considered a creative sparring partner of sorts. “What’s he like in person?”

Angie allowed herself a little more time to consider as a bleach-blonde girl carried a tray out to them. Vince handed the waitress a bill and waved off Angie’s insistent attempts to pay for herself. She finally accepted his gesture with thanks. Having downed the first bite of her sandwich, she said, “Danny was probably the most different in person. You know how he’s really clever and quick-witted in written form? He was actually pretty quiet in real life. Still on the sarcastic side, but I mean, he didn’t talk much at all while I was visiting. Introverted, I guess.”

“Huh,” Vince mused, collecting a spoonful of his frito chili pie. “That must make it hard to get laid.”

The crass remark caught Angie off guard. She paused midway through her second bite, glancing up with a flash of irritation. “I wouldn’t know.” Being unable to see his eyes behind the sunglasses only added to her annoyance. They finished eating in awkward silence.

At this rate, it could end up feeling like a long visit in a big hurry.

Vince didn’t press for any more conversation, and afterward he led her on a fifteen minute drive south between miles of open sod farms. Patches of water appeared to her left as a lengthy lake came and went from view. Rundown  trailers and sheet-metal sheds cropped up with some frequency, spaced by small stretches of pine forest. They passed someone selling wares in a dirt lot alongside the road, and Angie gaped when she spotted a large Confederate flag draped in front of one of the tables.

She was steadily beginning to feel like she’d entered a different country.

Half a mile after passing a volunteer fire station, Vince’s car hung a left into a wooded area lined with mobile homes, many parked alongside pontoon boats. Just as it began to occur to her that any of these trailers could belong to Vince’s family, his Pontiac turned into the driveway of the first and only foundation-seated house they’d encountered. The two-level home was plain and rectangular — white vinyl siding and a broad cement slab for parking.  

Vince stepped out of his car and walked back toward Angie’s window.

“Mom isn’t here. She should have beat us home. Hang on a sec, I bet she’s down at the bar.” He held up a finger and walked to a chain-link dog kennel, which sat just a few feet from the basement entrance. Inside the kennel, a rotund miniature pincher bounced up and down, eagerly awaiting its release. Vince swung the door open and the animal bolted for the house. After letting the dog inside, Vince locked the door and eased back into his car.

Angie broke her vague interest in the interaction and backed her car out to resume following him.

Did he just say his mother is at a bar...in the middle of the day?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The bar they arrived at was located a half-mile from Vince’s house, at the end of a small island mass that jutted out from the lakeside community. On their way in, Angie marveled at the tiny, weathered trailers — all packed tightly along the muddy banks on either side of the road. Minnesota was known for its lakes, but homes along the water were coveted and always seemed to go to someone who could afford an upscale cabin. These humble dwellings seemed out of place in her mind.

The Islander Marina was aptly named, Angie decided as she found a parking spot on the gravel lot beside the tin-roofed building. “Restaurant and Lounge” was the claim painted in blue cursive below the swinging wooden sign. Logan Martin Lake’s vast and murky waters stretched out a few yards from the wide front deck of the establishment. A boat-launching ramp led into the waters at the front of the parking lot, flanked on both sides by creaky wooden piers where dozens of houseboats sat bobbing in place like giant, mechanical ducks.

Vince rummaged through his glove box before emerging from the vehicle with a black case several inches in length. As she approached, he opened and turned it around to display rows of throwing darts, all with the number eight pool ball featured on the feathered end.  “Not as much fun as pool, but I do pretty well when they have tournaments.” He motioned with his chin for her to accompany him. Angie wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be impressed by his alleged dart-throwing prowess, so she simply nodded and followed him across the front deck.

Inside, the atmosphere was a blend of rustic and nautical. Broad wooden beams spanned the bare ceiling, and the bracers between them were strung with fishing nets, colorful Christmas lights, and various women’s undergarments. Tall, round tables dotted the right side of the room, with half a dozen electronic dart boards lining the wall.

The bar itself extended along the left side, and the far back wall featured a raised karaoke stage. Country music filled the dim space — piped in from wall-mounted speakers. The scent of stale cigarette smoke was lingering but faint. A bald man behind the bar looked up from running a towel over a freshly washed glass and gave Vince a nod. He was a tall fellow in his early fifties, who seemed to be trying to make up for the lack of hair atop his head by sporting a dark, bushy mustache.

“Hey, Joe.” Vince nodded as he passed.

“Well, there you are!” The high, warbling exclamation came from a buxom, middle-aged woman who’d swiveled to face them from her seat along the bar. “And you brought yer lil’ travelin’ lady friend?” She was high-cheeked and fair skinned, her fox-red hair framing deep brown eyes before falling in waves past her shoulders. She sat tall, wearing a lime-green halter matched up to blue jean shorts and a pair of worn flip-flops. Casting a long-neck bottle of Bud Light onto the bar to free up her hand, the woman caught Vince in a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Squirming free of the woman’s affections, Vince motioned to introduce them. “So…this is my mom. Mom, this is Angeli.” 

The woman cast Vince a scolding glance and took hold of Angie’s hand, giving it a squeeze and a shake. “I’m Marie. Pleased ta meet you.” She patted the stool next to her. “Have a sit with me, girl. You want anything ta eat? Joe here makes a great burger,” Marie proclaimed. Her drawl was thick enough to slice. It was then Angie realized Vince had somehow bypassed the standard southern accent.

“Oh, no thank you. We just ate.” Angie smiled at the woman’s warmth and perched on the offered barstool, looking to Vince then in hopes of some direction. To her dismay, he’d already walked off to speak with an older, bearded man sitting at a nearby table. After a brief discussion, Vince and the older man moved to one of the dart boards and began a game. Angie was on her own, and completely out of her element. Fortunately, Marie seemed the chatty type.

“So, Minnesota. I hear it’s plenty cold up there.”

Angie chuckled, “It can be. The winters are longer than I’d like.”

“Vinny was sayin’ you’ve been drivin’ for a while already,” Marie said, maintaining a lively tone.

“About six weeks now.”

Marie leaned into the bar and sipped her beer. “Yer underage, aren’t ya?  You like sweet tea?”

Angie hesitated, wondering if she should conceal her ignorance. Curiosity ultimately won out over pride. “Sweet tea? Is that like iced tea?”

Marie’s brows raised and the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes deepened. “Well that tears it. Joe? Could ya bring my girl here a sweet tea?” she called over her shoulder, patting the bar top with her free hand.

A few moments later, Angie accepted a red tumbler and found herself as glad to have the refreshment as she was to have something to do with her hands. The drink wasn’t iced tea, per say — at least not as she knew it. To her, iced tea was made from a powder mix and matched to a citrus flavor. This tasted like the brewed black tea she normally drank hot, except it was on ice and sweetened with either honey or brown sugar. Not exactly an exotic new experience, but pleasantly different in its own way.

At Marie’s expectant look, Angie raised her glass in appreciation. “It’s good! Thank you.”

Marie toasted Angie’s glass with her empty beer bottle and grabbed another out of the sweating metal bucket Joe had left on the bar behind her.

The bubbly woman was forthcoming with personal information. She informed Angie that she was a “Yankee” herself, having grown up on the East Coast — something that wasn’t discernible, considering how thoroughly the woman embraced the southern vernacular.

Marie had discovered that college wasn’t for her and joined the Army just a few years out of high school. There she’d met Vince’s father, and moved with him to his home state of Mississippi after they eloped. They’d lived and worked on the state penitentiary grounds until Vince was 14, before moving to Alabama. Marie had found work at the state government in Birmingham. It sounded as though she’d also been responsible for getting her son a clerical position in the same department.

While they bantered, Angie attempted to track the progress of Vince’s dart game. She couldn’t see the score from where she sat, but judging by Vince’s nonchalant expression and his opponent’s agitated mutterings, he was winning. Several more patrons trickled into the building in the meantime, most looking worn from whatever the day had brought.

Vince shook hands with the bearded man as their match ended. He came walking back toward the bar just as his mother was explaining to Angie where in the living room she could find an album with his baby pictures.

“Mom!”

The overhead music changed, and the atmosphere of the place shifted enough to catch Angie’s attention. The dull constant of background conversations yielded to a murmur of approval. Several patrons got to their feet and took a dance partners in the narrow clearings between tables. She couldn’t recall ever seeing such an automatic reaction to a song, aside from the National Anthem. It took several more bars of the upbeat guitar hook before she was able to identify it as none other than Lynyrd Skynyrd’s
Sweet Home Alabama
. She couldn’t help but smile to herself at the quaintness of it all.

“Son, why don’t you get out on the floor with Miss Angie?” Marie said, making urging motions at both of them.

Angie’s stomach knotted. Thanks to high school, she had nothing positive to associate with the concept of dancing. And aside from that, she wasn’t sure she was getting along with Vince yet. Dancing seemed like an uncomfortable stretch. To her relief, a gauging glance at the young man told her he wasn’t about to yield to the coercion. 

“Mom, I don’t dance. ” Vince gave a groan of annoyance. “And if I did, it wouldn’t be to the redneck theme song.”

Marie gestured with her beer as she looked aside to Angie. “Don’t you listen ta him, he can too dance. And he sings. I oughta find you that video of him singin’ the Mississippi Squirrel song.” Delight glimmered in her eyes she gave Angie’s arm a conspiring nudge.

“I was ten—I didn’t know any better!” Vince threw up his hands in a dramatic combination of exasperation and mock horror. He caught Angie’s gaze and inclined his head toward the door with urgency. “I think that’s enough quality time. You ready to get out of here?”